


Inspiration

by shiveringshadows



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, In which Ciel loves Sherlock Holmes, International Fanworks Day 2017, Near Future, Reading, spoilers for a 125-year-old short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9752024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiveringshadows/pseuds/shiveringshadows
Summary: No doubt Wordsmith had drawn his inspiration from those days and nights he'd spent at Phantomhive Manor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes taken from the following:  
> My Neighbour's Dog by Arthur Morrison; and The Adventure of the Speckled Band by Arthur Conan Doyle.  
> Both of these works are in the public domain, and were published in the Strand Magazine in February 1892, which can be read online for free on archive(dot)org as Strand Magazine no. 14.
> 
> Finally, this was inspired by the OTW's short fanworks challenge: "What does your favorite character—or your favorite pairing—get fannish over?"

It was cold and dark outside the confines of Phantomhive Manor, the February weather no better than January’s—heaps of snow had fallen over night, and though it thinned out in several places, it hid the ground adeptly. Any out of doors activities would be nigh impossible to enjoy because of the chill alone, provided anyone had wanted to go outside to begin with, but even Finnian was keener to huddle up by the fire with the other servants instead.

“Young master,” Sebastian said—though Ciel had just passed his sixteenth birthday hardly two months prior, and would be seventeen at the end of this year, hardly a ‘young master’ anymore—as he produced a bound volume, a magazine, with the words  _The Strand Magazine_  printed in large bold letters at the top.

“What is this?” Ciel asked, glancing up from the last bit of his work. He scoffed, “A present?”

“I suppose you could call it something of the sort; I had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that you would request a copy regardless, and so took the opportunity to purchase it in advance when I was in town yesterday.”

Ciel laughed, a short amused bark of a laugh, and sat up straighter. He held his hand out, still dainty and soft-fingered as it always had been. “Hardly. But hand it over anyway.”

Sebastian complied. Ciel flipped through the magazine’s pages, in little chunks at a time; they were filled mostly with text in twin columns, but accompanied by inky illustrations and grim photographs, of dogs, of men, of household objects as well. _The dog is the friend of man,_ read the opening sentence of one article; the capital T was balanced on the nose of a cartoon canine. _That is what I used to read in my spelling-book. I do not wish to impeach the authority of the spelling-book, but…_

He flipped on.

The dog illustrations continued; Ciel could feel the hopes he’d gotten up slip, until he came to a page reading thus:

_Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_

_VIII.—THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND._

_by A. Conan Doyle._

“I see Mr. Wordsmith has published another of his detective stories,” he said suddenly, a smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

“Quite,” Sebastian replied. “As he has every month since June. Which is why I procured a copy of the magazine for you.”

Ciel dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. I suppose it’s good enough to keep me entertained for a while once I’ve finished with my work.”

Sebastian bowed, his hand on his chest, and left.

* * *

Ciel worried the corner of right-hand page between his forefinger and thumb as he read, curled up in the office chair that was still too big for him. The whole of the story was just sixteen pages, and as he came to the end of it, he could not help laughing.

Wordsmith was a talented storyteller, of that Ciel had been certain when he had chosen to send for him in March, 1889; but he felt a surge of pride whenever he published a story like this, one that would not have existed had Ciel _not_ invited him to spend the evening—an evening which became a few days, all guests trapped by rains that made one recall the Great Flood of Genesis—at Phantomhive Manor:

_…and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent._

* * *

The following day, in the crisp bright light of the early afternoon, Ciel thrust an envelope, all sealed and addressed, at Sebastian.

“Oh? And may I ask what this is?” the butler asked, his eyes roving over the name on the back.

“For Wordsmith. Criticism.”

“Ah. A fan letter, then.”

“As if I would write a _fan letter_ ,” Ciel spat—though that was certainly a more accurate description than ‘criticism.’ “I found it amusing enough, I suppose, but he’s by no means a perfect writer. Just have it in the post before the day is out.”

“Yes, my lord.”

* * *

_Mr. Wordsmith,_

_I commend you on another job well done with regards to your latest detective story_ _. As always, the characters of Holmes and Watson are most entertaining, as was the story itself; not only in its intrigue, but also in its familiarity. I am honoured you hold the memories you made at Phantomhive so dearly you would make use of them in your professional work, which has rather grown in popularity since I last had the pleasure of seeing you a few years ago._

_Do not hesitate to call on us if ever you need fresh ideas for your stories._

_Earl Ciel Phantomhive_


End file.
